


one shot

by freckledbuttchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledbuttchester/pseuds/freckledbuttchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel pops in on one of Dean's private moments. Things don't go as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one shot

**Author's Note:**

> written for Brittany's (misha-collins) birthday! I'm sorry for my horribly punny title but I hope you like it! happy birthday! I love you!

As soon as Castiel appears in the dingy motel room in a nowhere town, he knows Sam isn’t here. He must have been away for quite some time already if the compromising position Dean has himself in is anything to go by.

 

Castiel should leave. Immediately.

 

And yet…

 

Dean is sprawled on the top of the motel bed, clad only in a pair of boxers that are pushed down and bunched at his knees. His body is flushed all over, from chest to cheeks, making the smattering of freckles stand out against rose tinted skin. His long lashes are brushing his cheeks as he worries his lower lip between his teeth, barely muffling the tiny groans that slip from him.

 

One hand is currently occupied with long and languid strokes along his cock; the pad of his thumb spreading droplets of pre come across the head of him every time it reaches the apex of its movements. Dean’s left hand roams, sliding along the side of his torso until he reaches up to pinch one of his own nipples, tweaking at it until the nub is pink and stiff.

 

Castiel isn’t stupid. He knows this crosses a line (deeper than a violation of personal space) and has the potential to embarrass Dean furiously. Yet he’s somehow hypnotized and fixed in place by the openness of Dean’s face. The lines that seem permanently drawn in between his eyebrows are gone, and he looks years younger. And for as thoroughly as Castiel knows Dean, these secret habits, the little roll of his hips as he fucks into his own fist and the little whines that escape him, are endlessly entrancing. He feels a flush climbing from his neck to his cheeks, a throbbing pulse of _something_ low in his gut, and he knows it’s time to leave, before he’s seen, before he’s caught. But before he can flee, Dean opens his eyes.

 

Castiel might imagine a number of ways this scenario could go. Dean could yell and scream as he scrambled to right his pants. He could leap off the bed to punch Castiel in the face (not that it would do much good for Dean, just cause a broken hand and more anger). He might demand that Cas leave, which he would comply with in an instant (he briefly entertains the thought of taking flight to an Arctic region-perhaps snow and ice could cool the heat in his body). What he least expects is for Dean to look at him with his eyes rimmed with a sliver of green around wide pupils and _smirk_ at him.

 

“Hey Cas,” he says, his tone of voice going ragged and uneven from the rhythm of his hips pumping against his fist.

 

“Uh…Dean. Hello,” Castiel forces out, his eyes darting wildly. He’s unsure what to do when so obviously caught, and the fact that Dean hasn’t stopped is confusing every sense he has. He feels like he should focus anywhere except on Dean’s naked body, but the sound of skin sliding on skin, and the sight of the red tip of Dean’s cock slipping up and down in his ring of fingers is making it…difficult.

 

But Dean seems to be relishing in the way Cas’ gaze tracks his movements; the twist of his wrist as his fingers curl around his cock, the bob of his throat as he swallows down little gasps of air, the tiny arch of his body as his head shoves deeper into the pillow as another wave of pleasure sends him reeling towards the edge.

 

“Dean,” Castiel repeats, his voice even more ragged and low than usual, the gravel timbre dropped down to something he barely recognizes himself. He watches as Dean’s movements become more erratic, eyes glazing as moans softly, and Cas can see the instant that everything breaks.

 

Dean comes with a planting of his feet on the mattress top, his back arching up hard as he raggedly pumps his cock a few more times, milking everything he can out of himself. His come shoots out across his stomach and chest, a sticky trail from navel to neck and Castiel can smell the bitter salt tang of it in the air. Oddly, it makes his mouth water, and his tongue darts out to wet his dry lips as he considers Dean.

 

Dean is boneless, his cock now soft in his fist and his eyes half shut from the daze of his orgasm. When he sees Castiel staring at the mess he’s made, he quirks an eyebrow and still manages to look challenging and snarky when he tosses out, “You want to clean me up Cas?”

 

Castiel gives Dean’s body another once over before he slowly nods his head, every tiny movement he makes fanning the flame of desire in the pit of his stomach. He can feel his own erection tenting the front of his slacks; still a slightly unfamiliar feeling, painful yet pleasant in that strange human way. He shrugs off his overcoat and blazer, and makes quick work to loosen the knot of the tie at his throat to lift the loop over his head. He folds the pieces of his clothing over the end of the bed and toes off his shoes, and he notes the incredulous look in Dean’s eyes with a small amount of satisfaction.

 

He manages to keep an air of grace about him as he crawls over the edge of the bed, scooting his body up until he sits back onto Dean’s knees. Dean stares up in slight disbelief, but there are no jokes from him now, and when Castiel meets his gaze, Dean sucks his lower lip in with his teeth again, waiting for the angel’s next move.

 

Castiel folds forward until his mouth is at Dean’s hand and he laps at the fingers still curled loosely around Dean’s cock. Instantly a shiver racks through Dean’s body but he accommodates Cas, moving his fingers from their slack grip. Castiel immediately swallows them down, his tongue sliding over the pad of each finger and in between the groove of each finger. Dean’s come tastes slightly salty, but it is not unpleasant as it plays across his tongue. When Castiel’s teeth drag slightly along the shaft of his middle finger, Dean gives a moan and his hips jerk upwards, his sensitive and overspent cock pushing against Castiel’s leg. The angel can still feel his own cock pressing insistent and hard through his clothes, but his focus for now is the business of cleaning Dean up.

 

“Not exactly what I meant, but I like the effort Cas,” Dean manages to breath out, his voice sounding even more wrecked with lust than before.

 

Castiel makes a small noise of assenting but doesn’t slow in his movements, letting Dean’s fingers slip out of his mouth as he dips his head back down. Dean’s hand comes to grip tightly into Castiel’s hair as he licks at the come on and around the over sensitized cock, which half heartedly twitches as he moves across it to clean it up.

As he makes his way further up, Dean’s muscles under the skin of his stomach jump under the flat of Cas’ tongue, and a little huff of a half laugh escapes him as Castiel slides over his belly. Castiel licks his way further up; tongue leaving a hot, wet trail in place of the former mess of Dean’s come. There’s one drop near Dean’s nipple, still pinched pink but not as prominently stiff and perky as it was, so Castiel uses the opportunity to close his mouth around the circle of it. He alternates between a sharp drag of his teeth and a soothing lap of his tongue until Dean is writhing beneath him; hips dragging against the hard line of Castiel’s cock and providing a friction that is all at once glorious and not nearly enough. Cas lightens his mouth’s suction and breathes hot over Dean’s nipple as he bites his own lip to try and keep his focus. It takes a great amount of control not to rut himself against Dean’s body, but he has a job he means to finish first.

 

When Cas reaches Dean’s neck, he laps at the salty drops clinging just at the edge of Dean’s stubble. Idly he thinks that it must have been a few days since Dean has shaved the hairs not so bristly; longer and a little soft. He catches a bit of skin in between the edges of his teeth and looks up briefly at the gasp of air that escapes Dean. He asks a silent question but Dean gives a quick jerk of his head; _go ahead_. So Castiel returns to his ministrations, sucking and tugging at the thinner skin of his neck and after a few moments there’s a red mark tinged purple at the edges under the scruff on Dean’s neck. Castiel feels a strange flash of pleasure at leaving his mark on Dean’s skin and smiles a little as he runs a thumb over the mark.

 

“How’s it taste?” Dean asks, the deep green of his eyes still a faint sliver around lust wide pupils.

 

The last few smears remain on Dean’s collar bone, so Cas moves his mouth to collect it, holding Dean’s come on his warm tongue as he moves up. His lips brush against Dean’s, who lets his mouth yield, granting access. Their tongues slide along each other, hot and slick as Castiel feeds the remainder of the mess back to Dean. His tongue searches every inch of Castiel’s mouth, and Cas pushes back hard with tongue and teeth, clashing as he rocks his hips and hard cock against Dean’s thigh. Dean tangles his legs with Castiel’s, arms coming across the angel’s back until he’s suddenly the one with his back to the motel bed, Dean looming large above him with a smile on his lips.

 

Castiel swallows roughly, tongue like sandpaper in a too dry mouth, before he asks, “What are you doing?”

 

Dean’s grin grows, teeth flashing white and predatory as his hands slip to the front of Castiel’s pants, working the leather of his belt to release it.

 

“Just returning the favor Cas. You did your job, now I do mine.”

 

Castiel gives no further argument.

 


End file.
